J.K. Rowling, author of a book series so popular that many people actually read it instead of waiting for the movies, has released her new book, The Casual Vacancy, an adult-oriented novel about tension and personal conflict in a small English town. Critical response has been mixed, with some describing it as “brilliant” and others calling it “brilliant,” but in a context that makes it clear they’re being sarcastic.
This week I received a manuscript from an unnamed source. I mean that literally — she has no name. The manuscript, she claimed, was an early draft of Rowling’s novel. I was unable to confirm this, mostly because I wasn’t able to explain to Rowling’s people who gave it to me. (“You know how Cher only has one name? Well she’s like that, only with one fewer name.” The conversation didn’t really pick up from there.)
At any rate, if this manuscript is to be believed, in spite of the fact that the author’s name is spelled “J.K.K. Rolling” on the front, then Rowling had some trouble leaving behind magic and fantasy and adapting to adult fiction. I present the following excerpts and ask you to judge for yourselves, because I’m about ready for dinner.
Chapter 1
A bleak, dry sun rose over the surly hills east of Pagford. Ellen Wainston stood at the window of her gray, peeling flat, clad in a musty T-shirt and ill-fitting underpants, feeling, as she so often did, that the world had somehow done her a personal insult by letting her live one more frustrating, dreary day.
“I used to laugh all the time,” she said aloud. “Now I can barely remember what laughter sounds like.”
“It’s kind of like the bark of the Greater Crested Manticore,” said Pigwump, her boggin butler.
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Chapter 6
“Your apologies are as empty as your lies,” said Ellen, “I will never forgive you for what you did to me. I loved you. Trusted you!”
“I’ve apologized,” replied Nigel, shrugging. “What more do you want from me?”
“I will never again be happy, Nigel. But at least I can take satisfaction from making you as unhappy as you made me.”
“You mean …?”
“I have nothing left to lose. The Malifeance Hex is the only thing I have left. The only thing you left me.”
“But the Malifeance Hex has been banned by the Local Council of Civil Sorcery!”
“Oh! Huh. Well, I guess I’ll sleep with your brother, then.”
- - -
Chapter 15
“You know that I’d never do anything to harm Pagford, or her people,” said Country Chairman Sneevius Shadowcreep, sharpening his pointed teeth with a file shaped like a demon’s claw.
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Chapter 28
“I can’t believe it!” said Graham Patrick, his boyish blue eyes sparkling with the brilliance and insight he was always complaining about having. “Chairman Shadowcreep is in league with the Duke of Harrowing! And they’re both possibly evil!”
“Should we tell our parents?” said one of his friends, it doesn’t really matter which one. “Or go to the police?”
“Neither,” replied Graham. “They don’t trust us after we took the last six dark mysteries into our own hands. Looks like we’ll have to take this one into our own hands.”
- - -
Chapter 41
Ellen leaned up against the feces-stained wall and watched flies crawl over Nigel’s still-open mouth, his eyes staring as if he had just been told he was adopted, or perhaps as if he had just overdosed on heroin. The vomit covering his shirt-front made the latter interpretation more likely.
She realized nothing could make life good again. Not love, not friendship, not bumblecrumpets with gigglejam, not chocolate-stuffed pixieberries, not even heroin. Even her lovemaking with Pigwump had grown rote and joyless.
She was without hope. Her only hope for getting more hope was Graham, who was at that moment preparing to sneak into Castle Shadowcreep with the Quicksilver Scimitar to face the Flame Ogre and retrieve the legendary tape of Chairman Shadowcreep banging an underage bellhop in Cabo San Lucas.
- - -
Chapter 56
“We haven’t defeated Shadowcreep,” warned Ellen. “We’ve only banished him back to the private sector. He will escape to run for public office again.”
“And we’ll be there when he does,” said Graham. “Even if it takes an amount of time that could only be recounted over a total of seven books or eight movies.”
“We all will,” said one of his friends (let’s say Meliathioma, that works).
“Jolly good,” said Pigwump, his ear-tips wiggling with joy. “Now who wants some heroin?”
- - -
Born helpless, naked and unable to provide for himself, Lore Sjöberg overcame these handicaps to become a scribe, a scribbler and a scrivener.
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